


when i was older

by PunchSystem



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gags, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Low Honour Arthur, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, SPOILERS for everything that comes after chapter 3, dont we all kinda wanna break micah, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunchSystem/pseuds/PunchSystem
Summary: It makes him push the knife down harder. Pulling that blondes hair until that Adams Apple of his bops almost nervously, pushing deeper and taking, searching for that black mass that oozed into everyone at camp, turning them paranoid and scared and hopeless. The poisoned well they all drank from.





	when i was older

Micah was like the pest. Like a poison that hits you only hours after, making you throw up bile and black blood. And before you realize what was happening, your eyes stopped focusing and you finally came to wonder if your heart is as heavy as the feathers you plucked from your neighbors chicken as a kid.

A little devil whispering into Dutch's ear, Miss Grimshaw once said. Twisting his mind and letting him think there was already a gun pointed at his head.

But the worst thing was, Arthur never saw it coming. Never knew what those hushed whispers meant, what lies sprouted in Micahs mouth, only to bloom in every move Dutch made.

After they moved their Camp up to Annsburg, there weren't many left. Pearson and Uncle disappeared a while ago, even before Karen and Mary-Beth took off and Arthur hoped sincerely they found their peace.

But then when he kicked out Strauss, Trewalny watching from the side lines, nodding in understanding before jumping the ship himself, he realized how far they came. And how much further this will go, if he lets him continue feed Dutch's Insanity.

Everytime Micah opened his mouth, remarked a few little things towards the other guns and those little Lakais of his, the Camp seemed to grow smaller and the borders were build anew. 

Williamson following like a lap dog, and Javier, goddamm him to hell, picking up the pieces. Miss Grimshaw was one of the last sane ones, standing by Tillys side, while John did what he should have done a long time ago. All that while he and Charles were keeping the hungry wolves at bay, being starved down themselves.

Arthur continued to stand by his mentors side, after everything, he still tried to reason with him. Not leaving, not just yet. Because without him, without Hosea, where would he be? Owning his life to the only father figure he had left, the only family he will ever have, now with Mary gone.

So when Micah remarked something to Jack, after that kid desperately yelled into the cave for that dog of his, his heart started burning for the first time after the Doctor told him about the rest of his life.

Dying like a scrawny mutt, desperately trying to bury the bone he held on to for so damm long.

He thought about cutting his throat; waiting till he had gone to bed, never minding the last few rules that seemed to hold this place intact. But that wasn't enough, was it? After all the murdering and the thieving he did, what was the last thing he could do to make that bastard pay? Make himself feel better about the fact that maybe, just maybe, they shared the same step not so long ago.

And then he remembered that dirty grin, him fletching his teeth towards Miss Adler, crawling out from the floor boards and screaming bloody murder.

Up on that mountain, he didn't waste much thought on that sight. After all, her husband's corpse lying at the front door, the story telling itself. So maybe she had lost her mind, couldn't tell friend from foe. But maybe she saw something in Micah that made her skin crawl all over again.

Or maybe it was the cold creeping under his coat that made him think that way.

May Reverend Swanson forgive him.

And may he killed the demon that plagued him for so goddamm long.

When he made his way to Micahs tent, that mysteriously showed up a few days after they reached Beaver Hollow, Arthur threw a look around, meeting Sadies eyes at the campfire. She pressed her lips together, and Arthurs look lingered a while longer as she glanced towards Joe and Cleet. She knew; she understood. Pulling the safety of her gun before nodding. An eye for an eye.

Micah never kept watch either, never bothered to do anything in camp, and when Arthur entered the tent, he wondered if Dutch really had a soft spot for poor, misguided men. Like a priest with open arms, taking in the hungry orphans as sickish as they were. Hiding their knives in their belts, just in case.

Micah was asleep, looking so peaceful, and it irked him. Nearly made him just grab his knife and finish the job, but this wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough. The only trait he ever got from Dutch.

Surprisingly, there wasn't much of a fight. It was easy to bring him down, bastard really thought he was safe here, after all the things he did. He tried to reach for his guns, but one of them was already kicked across the floor when he woke up. A dirty cloth shoved into his mouth before Arthur slammed his wrist against the steel frame, letting the other beloved gun fall under the bed.

Micahs yelling was muffled, and he managed to butt his head against the bridge of Arthurs nose. But the other man had still the fire burning inside of him, still the hate and the grief that kept him going for this long. He grabbed his bloody nose with one hand before knocking Micahs head to the side. Again and again and again, until the blonde stopped trying to scratch his eyes out.

From that out it had been easy, pushing him onto his belly, tie his hands together and sit down on his legs. Can't tie his ankles, from what he is about to do, he's gotta make sure he can reach the worst part inside of him and pull it out, his rotten soul with him.

When you kill an animal, at some point it will stop fighting. It will pretend to be dead, looking at you with wide eyes, not moving an inch, hoping you will give it a chance to escape.

And humans are the same. They struggle, and they plead, and they cry, but at some point their body sinks in and their muscles relax. Giving up one way or another. Eyes fixed on the predator, wondering. Waiting.

Micah is the latter. Even if he lost his morals a long while ago.

His body fell into submission. He stopped trying to kick him with his lower legs, quickly realizing he can't reach that far with a hundred pounds of muscle and anger sitting on top of him. There ain't much you can do in that position, and he knew he shouldn't waste his energy on a useless fight.

The way Micahs eyes burned into his, torso sinking up and down as he calms down from the fight, waiting for Arthurs next move; almost reminded him of Colm. The frighted look Sadie told him about, how fast his face fell when he realized there was no escaping this time. But Micah wasn't frightened; he was furious. Cranking his neck so far back Arthur almost wondered if he broke it.

He sat there for a while. Long enough for Micah test the ropes. Words he spit out lost their meaning between the rag and Arthurs heartpounding echoing back against his own ears. When the man under him muffled again, he could have sworn it was an insult. A joke. Something to add to Arthurs pale face and red eye bags. But these days a lot of things are a blur, so he ignores it and grabs Micahs hair, pressing his face against the pillow. He takes out his cock, depressingly soft for what he was about to do.

It takes him a while to find a rhyme too, stroking up and down, grinding it against the seam of Micahs pants. He doesn't get hard quickly, it's almost an embarrassingly long minute before his cock even twitches. There is no enjoyment in this, nothing but hurry while he pulls down his pants, pressing the others man face harder down once he starts protesting.

No words either, only grunting. Micah in pain as Arthur enters him raw and Arthur as he bites his tounge, swallowing the things he thought of saying. But he was always a man of few words, so none of that would have mattered anyhow. There are no words needed, nothing that would have changed the outcome. Micah will realize soon enough, he wasn't stubborn. They are both sinners now, having done things not only for survival, but because they enjoyed it.

It would have been so easy to imagine Mary, as he slips in and out again, a quickened pace. She was tight too, wet and slick and hot, but his mind didn't let his thoughts wander that far, not with the way Micah tried to fight back.

It's like a fever dream. The slapping noise when their skins meet, the grunting as Arthur enters him again, the way everything seems to be happening at once, but also slowing down time in the process. None of that seemed to be really happening. He feels hot, maybe its the weather, the way the air stood in the tent, but slowly its becoming almost unbearable.

He was taking too long, he realized. Wanting to finish this as he sped up his thrust, not because the other is in obvious pain, seemingly choking on words and spit, but it even disgusted himself. Micahs is still struggling, not that it is doing much, but the worry that the gag won't hold off the others in the camp is still lingering in his mind. So he takes the hunting knife from his hip, still bloody from the rodent he skinned before, and held it to Micahs cock.

And the other man stops his struggle abruptly, maybe in fear.

Maybe in embarrassment.

He isn't entirely soft anymore, almost hard. But Arthur know it's because the angle made him hit against that one spot, adrenalin and the cock rutting against the sheets doing the rest. A pure physical reaction, because not even Micah could enjoy this. 

But Arthur does now.

Knowing he got hard getting the same treatment, it makes him push the knife down harder. Pulling that blondes hair until that Adams Apple of his bops almost nervously, pushing deeper and taking, searching for that black mass that oozed into everyone at camp, turning them paranoid and scared and hopeless. The poisoned well they all drank from.

He isn't even finished, nowhere close, when the fire in him starts again. But this isn't the one that drove him, because this one starts in his lungs, seeping down his airway, and he needs to turn away, needing his hands to steady himself on Micahs back before standing up and tripping over himself, coughing and coughing and coughing.

Arthur doesn't see Micah rolling out of bed too, quick and aching, and he nearly chokes as the other man lunges at him, hands still tied behind his back. But Micah is a smart man, a rotten piece of shit, but a smart one. He backs away as Arthur tries to grab him with his hands, still coughing, blood and spit coming with it. So he lunges for the knife that fell to the floor.

He cuts his ties, glancing towards Arthur who barley rappled himself up, grabbing the little table as his lungs keep crashing him, blood leaking from his mouth, but finally, stilling the coughing fit.

Their eyes meet, both bend over, both in pain, both so goddamm similar.

This wasn't a fight, it was two dying men waiting for the finishing blow.

As Micah holds the knife with his free hand, he takes out the gag. For a few second there is nothing. Heavy breathing, trying to gather strenght for whatever is about to come. Instead, he points the finger at him, grabbing the knife tighter. He wants to say something, maybe something witty, maybe a warning, but his hand sinks down again. His forehead is sweaty, and his cock is still not completely soft either. But his face, oh his face.

It's exactly like Sadie described.

The blonde pulls up his pants and drops the knife, his eyes still fixed on Arthur. He takes a rattling breath, as he slows towards the exit, leaving with the silence. Arthur comes to the conclusion that Micah remembers that night on the mountain. Remembers what this was about. He avoided death this time, but he can't run forever. But with the way his sight was still blurred, maybe he is wrong about that too.

He spits out the rest of the blood that gathered in his mouth as he zips his pants back up, waiting a moment before he too, leaves the tent.


End file.
